


with every beat comes a violent noise

by hesperides



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Pre-Canon Speculation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperides/pseuds/hesperides
Summary: Rei leans forward on the black granite of the kitchen island, eyes lazily tracking to the cabinets Mao has open. Their kitchen, generally, is only for show. The refrigerator is the only appliance that gets much use, outside of the occasional baking Ritsu does, and there’s little in the way of actual food to be found in any of the sleek mahogany cupboards. The lack of anything that could sustain human life goes along well with the spacious, barren feel of the room, as far as Rei’s concerned. Shu once told him that if a house was a body, the kitchen was usually the heart of it.There was a bitterly crafted metaphor he was going to fill in there, but thinking of Shu makes his vision darken again, the thought unraveling and sputtering out in the slowly turning spokes of his mind.





	with every beat comes a violent noise

The house is close to silent when Rei gets home. Tomblike, if he’s feeling dramatic, which he is, but he slams the back door loud enough to rattle the glass, letting some sound escape into the entryway for a blissful seconds. He doesn’t bother to take his boots off as he strides out of the entryway, each step he takes seeming thunderous in the normally unshakeable quiet of Sakuma home. Professionally shot photos in designer frames stare down at him wordlessly as he stalks through the hall, witnessing Rei as he mindlessly walks past the spacious living room and into the kitchen.

 

He doesn’t realize why he’s unconsciously chosen that route, until he crosses the threshold and notices that the artisan blown glass ceiling lights are on, and that there’s someone else already there. Mao turns back to look at him from where he’s standing in front of the open refrigerator, loose bangs falling in his face as he blinks in clear surprise at seeing the elder Sakuma brother at home, given the events of the last few days. He’s wearing Ritsu’s shirt, which means he’s probably sleeping over, and Rei finds himself wholly unsurprised that Ritsu failed to mention anything about it to him when he’d called earlier. That’s normal, now— Ritsu keeping things from him. Just little things, like his thoughts, feelings, secrets, words longer than a single syllable.

 

Teenagers, right?

 

“Sakuma-senapi,” Mao says, and there’s a question there clearer than any thoughts Rei can string together at the moment.

 

“Hey, you,” Rei answers, his grin lopsided and careless and calculated to look so. “You’re here again, huh?”

 

He says it like Mao doesn’t live a block over, and hasn’t spent as much time in their house as his own. Rei considers it as something of a game at this point, his faux ignorance of Mao’s existence, a years-long self-imposed distance to keep Ritsu’s violent jealousy at bay. At this point, it’s basically become the truth— he doubts Mao remembers the time before, when they were all still little enough to be ignorant of what being born into the Sakuma family really meant.

 

Rei leans forward on the black granite of the kitchen island, eyes lazily tracking to the cabinets Mao has open. Their kitchen, generally, is only for show. The refrigerator is the only appliance that gets much use, outside of the occasional baking Ritsu does, and there’s little in the way of actual food to be found in any of the sleek mahogany cupboards. The lack of anything that could sustain human life goes along well with the spacious, barren feel of the room, as far as Rei’s concerned. Shu once told him that if a house was a body, the kitchen was usually the heart of it.  

 

There was a bitterly crafted metaphor he was going to fill in there, but thinking of Shu makes his vision darken again, the thought unraveling and sputtering out in the slowly turning spokes of his mind.

 

Mao says something he doesn’t hear, and he chuckles darkly in response, his token answer for when he isn’t paying enough attention in a conversation and needs to cover his ass.

 

“Ritsu said you went out of the  _ country _ more than a week ago,” he persists, and Rei is suddenly too tired to evade him again, his will to airily evade and redirect the conversation drying up all at once. It was a bad idea to come back here this soon, he had felt it the second his feet had touched solid ground, but then, leaving hadn’t done what he had hoped either. Eight days in London and all he had to show for it was a perpetual hangover and two-dozen missed calls and the endless, enveloping exhaustion, that Rei’s starting to think no amount of distance or alcohol is going to cure at this point.

 

“Yeah, sure did,” he doesn’t know how he gets the energy to push himself upright again and make his way over to the refrigerator, but he must’ve, the fluorescent lights amplifying the spotless white interior to sear his retinas. The soft rush of cold air helpfully lets him know that he’s opened it, somehow, even if his mind is still too disconnected from the rest of his body to properly reconstruct his path there.

 

“I forgot a couple of things. Just here to pick ‘em up.”

 

Rei doesn’t bother looking over to see what Mao’s reaction to that is, choosing instead to swipe one of his mother’s overpriced bottles of pomegranate juice off the top shelf— the only thing that’s actually in the refrigerator, other than what he recognizes as one of Ritsu’s adorably malformed jello molds. The air bubbles trapped in the gelatin look remarkably like lost souls screaming in purgatory. It’s so cute, and so familiar, he feels like wants to cry.

 

Mao still hasn’t said anything else, and he’s half expecting him to be gone when he finally does turn his head to check if he’s still there, slamming the refrigerator door shut in the same move. He can see how Mao’s shoulders twitch in reaction to the noise, but his eyes never actually lower or look away, staring him down with an expression Rei recognizes dumbfounded even if he doesn’t register exactly why it’s directed at him.

 

It makes what he says next that much more confusing.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

The main issue with Mao has always been that he’s a perfectly normal person. When most of the extended family had flown in Rei’s thirteenth birthday ‘celebration’, Mao had his mother call the cops on his great-aunts when they showed up in full ceremonial garb a full day early and proceeded to loiter in their driveway for half an hour when no one was home to let them in. He used the Tudor era armchair in their father’s office to make his and Ritsu’s pillow forts, thought their mother’s never a day over 25 appearance was due to good genetics and an excellent surgeon, and when they were still so little that being exposed to sunlight was a serious threat, he believed the farfetched story he’d been fed about a skin condition. He was a preschooler raised by two normal people with normal office jobs and normal families who just happened to live down the block from a house full of fairytale monsters. He never had any reason to think it would be anything else.

 

So instead of doing something ridiculous, like dumping all of his responsibilities to his friends and family after bombastically rescinding his title student council president, taking off halfway across the planet, and then coming back a little more than a week later because of some violent whim, he’s just using his words to try and communicate. Rei is still too drunk off of probably illegal airplane Merlot for this— or maybe not drunk enough.

 

Mao must know that he’s about to feed him some evasive half-true bullshit, his brow furrowing as he speaks again before Rei has a chance to drawl out something about the harshness of the British sun (ha ha) and wave it all off with a smirk.

 

“I was in the live, the one right before Valkyrie’s …” Last performance, sabotaged performance, performance Rei missed and didn’t even know about until he landed in London city and received 13 hours worth of missed texts and calls. Mao neatly avoids any of those using any of those descriptors, probably trying to be considerate, or some other small practice of sympathy that Rei can hardly swallow.

 

“You’re friends with Itsuki Shu, and I know you’ve been fighting with Ritsu. He’s  _ really _ mad at you, and he won’t tell me why, but I know he’s worried about you.”

 

The crack of seal around the juice bottle seems louder than it should be, a strangely intense pop, and it’s enough to let Rei pretend that the sound is enough to drown out any of what Mao’s said. The very notion that Ritsu’s been worried about him is more intoxicating than anything he’s had to drink in the last few days. It’s almost too good to be true, but if Mao’s picked up on it, it has to be the real deal. 

 

He oozes over to lean against the nearest counter, the same one that’s underneath the cabinets Mao’s raiding for snacks. Nobody else in the Sakuma house eats that particular brand of rice cake, and Rei knows for a fact that his mother only puts them on the grocery delivery list for their most frequent human guest. Rei’s close enough now that he can smell the pepper and citrus wafting from the open bag— they’d probably be a good hangover food, if he were interestested in actually sobering up.

 

“My sweet Ritsu misses me? I can hardly believe what I’m hearin’, Isara. He’s been so cold ta me lately, my poor heart’s frozen over,” all right, maybe that was a little too much, judging by Mao’s barely concealed expression of exasperation. He should refrain from tilting his head to the side and sighing like a wistful young heroine, but the kid’s reactions are cute, so fuck it.

 

“It’s cruel ta lead a man on like that, ya know. I expected better from my brother’s cute little playmate.”

 

Mao has one of those crackers pressed flat against his lips, his eyes the only thing fully visible, leveling him with a complex look of something that might be a mix of annoyance and pity. It’s the latter that makes something stir in Rei’s chest, which is a helpful hint that he’s being a gross asshole, but then— what else is new?

 

“I don’t have anything to gain by lying to you, Sakuma-senpai. It’s obvious that Ritsu’s been upset for a while, even if he won’t admit it,” Mao drops the snack back into the bag, watching it fall and pointedly keeping his eyes off of Rei. “It’s easy for me to tell, because I know him. Just like I can tell that you’re being … dumb, about taking care of yourself.”

 

“Because ya  _ know _ me?” Rei doesn’t mean for there to be that much bite in his words, but it slips in, not exactly derisive so much as an animal snapping its jaws in anticipation.

 

“Because I know you do dumb stuff like that all the time, ever since we were kids. I was old enough to remember that time at the graveyard when that guy tried to snatch you.”

 

Mao isn’t avoiding his gaze now, staring across from him indignantly where he stands between the counter and the kitchen island. He seems almost upset, partially because he’s gone ahead and actually addressed his issue with another person head on, but it’s more than just that. He’s  _ offended _ Rei would think he’d forget something like that. And, well, it’s just kind of funny— because  _ Rei’s _ the one who forgot about it.

 

It’s not like it was hard for him— during his tenure as a child prophet there’d been more than a few run ins with retrospectively unsafe individuals. Mostly just desperate people on hard times who were swayed by urban legends about a seemingly supernatural youth, but Rei could readily admit a couple of them were clearly the type following up on talk of a kid regularly left unattended in a public space with horrendously inattentive parents.

 

The guy Mao had seen was one of the latter, a vaguely creepy 20-something trying to coax Rei back to his apartment to talk more about the existence of an afterlife, and a clear lack of any scruples when it came to observing the concept of ‘personal space’ with a kid he didn’t know. It had been raining that day, and since Rei hadn’t bothered to bring his umbrella to the graveyard, the guy kept trying to get him under his own, not being  _ quite _ as bold as to reach out and grab him. Just, you know, getting close enough if anyone else had seen it, they would’ve realized what was happening. Rei can’t remember what was going through his head then, why he’d stick around long enough to let that guy get so close. Only that he could, and he did, he might’ve even gone with him, had Mao not appeared across the street and called out to him.

 

His whole body’s gone stiff against the counter, his artfully lazy slouch no longer feeling so relaxed. The weight of that memory, dredged up suddenly place at the forefront of his thoughts, has already settled one his shoulders, winding itself across his nerves in a way that’s strangely not unpleasant, which is the problem.

 

“Aah, so that’s why you were so upset that time, always kinda wondered.”

 

“You … wondered why I’d be scared because I saw you talking to some weird stranger who kept trying to touch you?”

 

Had he? Rei doesn’t remember him going that far, but maybe he was wrong. The only things that stuck out in Rei’s mind were about Mao— the print on his umbrella, the plastic grocery bag he was holding in his other hand, the fact that he used ‘Rei-chan’ when he started to desperately try to get his attention. That last one dates the incident, since Mao only called him that when Rei would still play with him on occasion when he came over to the house, and stopped pretty quickly after Rei’d suddenly started to shut him down.

 

“Guess I just didn’t think about that kinda thing, ya know?” he doesn’t know why, but his feet are moving of their own accord now, walking from his spot where he’s been leaning near the refrigerator to where Mao is, a few feet away, next to his snack cabinet. “You’ve got a pretty good memory, there.”

 

“My memory’s pretty average, it was just a weird experience,” Mao isn’t budging from where he’s been standing for the exchange, which is another bad thing, Rei belatedly realizes. If he doesn’t move, then Rei is just going to get closer, only stopping to turn so he’s leaning over him, practically boxing the shorter boy in, up against the counter. 

 

As Rei reaches around to set his juice bottle down, only then does he get that hint of nervous light in Mao’s eyes, the realization that he’s let himself be trapped by a predator. It’s too little too late, as simple awareness of situation won’t spare him now. 

 

“So, what’s the plan here, Mao? Are ya gonna try and save me again, like that day in the rain?”

 

Rei’s read, in old diaries and handwritten books his father keeps in his study, that sometimes the hunger isn’t always based on biological need. That sometimes a vampire will lure a person in from off the street and drain them dry, simply because their scent seems familiar, or something in their face brings forth pleasant thoughts of a better time long since past. He thinks that’s probably why, in this frigid house he’s come back to, where all sound of joy or despair seems to be swallowed up just the same, Rei reaches his hand back to tangle in Mao’s hair, using that grip to pull him forward and press their lips together.

 

The room is cold, almost as unbearably bleak as the airport he came from, or the moonless nights that reigned over the entirety of his trip to London. Vampires are supposed to be creatures that adapt to cooler climes, but all Rei’s been able to think about is that long forgotten memory of Mao taking him by the hand, and how warm his skin felt, and how again, in this moment, Mao seems like the last source of any heat in the entire fucking world.

 

He moves quickly, like he always does, his tongue darting out almost immediately to push Mao’s mouth open, not caring if his easy acquiescence is out of genuine desire, or just shock. Rei’s too focused on his own desires, what feels like an open maw stretched out across his body that desperately needs something to fill it, something warm, something alive.

 

There’s a rhythm to the way these things usually go for Rei. The talking, the kissing, the relocating to somewhere a little less in plain sight to get to the undressing. Mao’s heartbeat might be pounding in his ears, tempting him to dip his head down a little lower and take a bite, but Rei knows well enough that blood won’t be enough to sate him this time. That’s fine, he thinks, moving in closer to fully cage Mao in with his body, ignoring the arm that Mao puts up  between them, unconcerned as to whether it’s there to pull him forward or push him away. Drinking from him would only complicate things, and besides, once a Sakuma takes that warmth for themselves, it never lasts for long.

 

Mao pushes at him, it’s definitely a push this time, and then the next thing Rei knows, there’s a whole lot of liquid being dumped over his head, unceremoniously throwing him out of trancelike state he’s been in. He rears back, blinking rapidly and staring with what must be one of the dumbest expressions he’s let himself be caught with in a while. Mao’s returning that look in full, flushed up to his ears and still clutching onto the pomegranate juice bottle in his right hand for dear life. He doesn’t seem angry, but he keeps extending his arm until Rei has to take a step back, and then another, until he’s taking up a much smaller chunk of Mao’s personal space.

 

“You— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done … that,” he’s staring at Rei’s face, not actually meeting his eyes but looking up, where the juice has started to trickle down through his hair and onto his forehead. “But you shouldn’t just do that without asking either.”

 

It feels as though his whole body has suddenly become locked into place as Mao awkwardly side steps away from him, not even pausing to pick up the crackers he dropped on the floor earlier, probably when Rei started kissing him. He gets as far as the doorway leading out of the kitchen, to the main hall that has the staircase leading to the second floor, before he stops to look back. Rei can only meet his gaze with a level of shock that feels foreign to him, still frozen on the spot where Mao doused him, red juice beginning to trickle down his temples.

 

“I won’t tell Ritsu or anything, since I know you’re upset about everything that’s happening. I think if you took a break, and maybe rested overnight … if your next flight out isn’t for a while, that might do you some good.”

 

“Mao, hey—”

 

He doesn’t let him finish, or give any sort of formal goodbye after that, continuing on at a brisk pace that Rei can hear turn breakneck as soon as he’s out of his sight, the sound of Mao’s feet frantically racing up the stairs loud enough for anyone to hear, inhuman or not. Rei’s been clocked before, full on punched in the face in an underground live house over some stupid argument that he can’t be bothered to remember, but somehow, this feels worse. 

 

With Mao safely upstairs and Rei alone, again, he’s left to contemplate such matters as whether or not his mother prefers her pomegranate juice sweetened, and whether or not sticking his head under the kitchen faucet is a good decision. That seems stupid, like something that would only be logical in a dream, but everything about his life feels pretty dreamlike at the moment. 

 

When was the last time he got turned down, after all? Rei has a hard time recalling, and something twists in his throat as he calmly acknowledges that maybe, this is the first. He can’t decide if that’s funny or not, and the wheezy chuckle involuntarily rising from his throat doesn’t clear matters up either way. 

 

He can at least decide he doesn’t want to bother walking all the way to his own bathroom just yet, and he knows he’s used the wide kitchen sink to wash off worse things in the past.

 

Walking to the other side of the island seems to loosen him up, put the proverbial spring back in his spring back in his step, as it were. The running water is at least some kind of sound to break the fog, cold when Rei holds out a hand to let it slide over his palm, shaking him further out of his fugue. He’s messed up pretty badly again, hasn’t he? Letting Mao apologize for something like that, when it was his fault in the first place ... he really should’ve followed him, but then, if Ritsu finds out, this is only going to get worse.

 

It  _ is _ funny, he realizes, as he angles the faucet to the side, over the larger of the two basins. He’d forgotten that time in the graveyard, that much is true, but he remembers the other day, the one where he had fully understood everything about what he was doing.

 

(Ritsu had been crying, that night after he’d been too ill to play when Mao, just as he’d been for the past two weeks. It wasn’t just that, though, he told Rei— he’d seen the two of them playing in the yard, again, and it looked like they were having so much fun, and he felt so alone, Onii-chan, and he hated it, he hated the both of them)

 

What was that he said to Mao the next afternoon, when he asked Rei if wanted to see the new Shounen Jump he’d gotten that morning, something along the lines of, ‘that’s boring, you’re boring, I don’t care about that, leave me alone’? Rei smiles bitterly when he finally ducks his head down, shoving head under the stream of water and letting it rush over his hair and drip down the sides of his face, the diluted red water quickly being swallowed up in the drain.

 

At least one of them had believed him when he said.

**Author's Note:**

> wow fiona how come you only like boys when they're absolute heckin messes??


End file.
